Liberty, Equality, Fraternity
by CommunistRebel
Summary: "Attacked!" Grantaire cried. "Accused! You accuse a man of a crime, Apollo- you accuse him of treason, of bearing falsehoods, of murder! Has love now joined these felonies? Are those men guilty of having affections for each other, as you yourself are guilty of rebellion against the King?" Canon era AU. e/R with background Courfeyrac/Jehan


The others don't know about him, and for Grantaire's money, it was better that way. He knows the Amis are forward thinking men. More than once their late night conversations turned to discuss the ancient greeks and sometimes they would get sidetracked debating their history of interesting sexual practices. The would ponder of the philosophy of it, the merit of two men, bonded not only in soul but in body. But someone would always bring up the religious implications- the Greeks had not known Christ, and the Amis were all well versed in their Bible. And then another someone (usually Grantaire himself) would fight back against this way of thinking. And on it would go. Was it perverted? Was it wrong? Was the Bible the answer to the questions of man, or the culmination of questions man must learn to answer for himself?

The conversation was repeated every so often but never really changed. No conclusions were ever properly reached, but that Grantaire found the argument itself more telling than any one agreed upon answer. There was nothing like a good argument to make a man's true values show, and as they had been meeting like this for so long, he now knew where each man stood on the matter.

Courfeyrac was the most impassioned supporter of the lifestyle- quoting scholars and philosophers and even religious leaders to support his claim. He would often turn to Jehan, and he would would back him when called upon, but for the most part stayed silent during these discussions. After about 15 minutes of discourse, he would usually draw into himself, as if even speaking of the topic was too much to bear.

Grantaire understood. He may have been labeled as the drunk and the cynic- and although both were entirely true- he was more than just these. He was an observer. He saw how Jehan's jaw would tighten whenever Feuilly quoted Leviticus, how his eyes turned sad when Bossuet spoke of a childhood friend, a bright, sweet boy who grew up to dress as a women and was found so revolting by people he was forced to become a street walker just to keep food in his belly. Most importantly, he saw how he and Courfeyrac would always part the cafe together, headed down the street huddled together in hushed whispers. It was not hard to guess where and what they were headed to do.

And he was happy for them, truly he was, but that happiness in itself was not enough to extinguish the tiny green flame of envy he held in his heart.

But he had long resigned himself to the truth that what he wanted he would never possess.

He snuck a glance over at the object of his affections. Enjolras sat straight backed on a stool, giving an impassioned declaration of the rights of man to the men who flew like moths to such a bright flame. Grantaire was no better. He sat in this dingy cafe night after night, caring not a wit for revolution, only staying for the chance to be in this golden god's presence. It was a thoroughly masochistic endeavor, staying by this man's side knowing full well he would never be thought of the same way.

Still, there were moments- precious, bright moments that the weary old cynic lived for, when Enjolras' eyes would rest on him (sometimes in question, sometimes in furious response to some disparaging remark that he would make only to rile their leader) and it would be as if the whole world had faded away. He would scold himself later for swooning like a school girl, reminding himself that that was merely Enjolras' way. He gave people the same terribly intense focus he gave to a cause. He would look, yes, but in the next moment he would avert his eyes as if Grantaire was nothing remarkable, focusing that wicked sharp attention elsewhere, leaving Grantaire yearning for another bottle of wine to numb the pain.

It was late at the Cafe Musain, and the Amis were drifting off one by one every quarter hour or so, till none but four remained: Courfeyrac, Jehan, Enjolras and himself. He was quite spectacularly pissed at this point- a requirement, as this evening's philosophical discussion concerning the cruelty of man-specifically in regards to the violation of the fairer sex- had taken a dark turn as Combeferre admitted that his dear sister had been so assaulted at a family gathering a few years back, and the shame of it had drove her to suicide.

Grantaire switched to absinthe after that, not mentioning his mother's own weekly abuse at the hands of his father who spent as much of his time drunk as Grantaire himself did. It was in direct result of this that the man had been wasted on the streets one night, fell and was trampled to death by an oncoming carriage. In Grantaire's opinion he could not have died sooner. In fact he would only entertain the existence of an afterlife because he took a sick sort of pleasure in the image of that bastard burning in the fires of hell for all eternity. But no, that would be just. And if an afterlife did exist, he was fairly certain the god who had designed it was not a just one.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were bent together again, not so much whispering as merely soaking in the other's presence as best they could with such seating. Something inside Grantaire snapped.

"And what of the lovebirds?" He bellowed without preamble. He crossed the room toward them, flopping gracelessly into a nearby chair. "Some romantic plans for the rest of the evening? With there be a candles? Moonlight? Oh, spare an old cynic his misery and do share the details."

Courfeyrac's eyes were hard as stone, set in a face that had taken on a similar severity. "I'm sure we haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about Grantaire." He said evenly. If he had been a tad more sober, he might have read the underlying message in his words. Do not do this my friend. You tread on dangerous ground.

But Grantaire would have none of it.

"Oh, come now Courf! No need to play that game now. 'Tis only Apollo and myself." He sent a shrug in Enjolras's general direction, not noticing the man was now approaching the table, eyeing Grantaire like he was a dangerous animal about to go rabid. He felt the man's hand on his shoulder, a warning that he was determined not to heed. The air was thick with tension now, but he went on, turning to address the other man. "Jehan! Jehan, my good man, surely you know my character well enough now? You have no reason to fear my judgement, tell them!"

Enjolras' hand was gripping tighter now. "Grantaire." He said reproachful but stern. "Leave them be. It is none of your concern."

"Like hell it's none of my concern!" He slammed his bottle down and startled them. "They should not have to hide Apollo!" He gestured wildly at the pair of men in front of him, "No one should have to hide…" And just like that the fight was taken out of him. He swayed, head spinning before it dropped outright onto the wine soaked table. Something was exchanged between Enjolras and Courfeyrac- words that he could neither hear nor put together in his mind- and the latter made to depart, pulling Jehan along with him.

And now Enjolras was pulling him up roughly by the arm, steering him towards the door. "Don't be cross with me Apollo." He managed when they were out on the street. "You must have known the truth about them…about me…" Enjolras was silent for a few moments, focused on getting Grantaire walking upright. "That is not the point." He muttered, so quiet Grantaire almost missed that the words were directed at him. "You attacked them without preamble, accused them-" Grantaire ripped himself from the other man's grasp. "Attacked?!" He cried. "Accused?! You accuse a man of a crime Apollo, you accuse him of treason, of bearing falsehoods, of murder. Has love now joined these felonies? Are those men guilty of having affections for each other, as you yourself are guilty of rebellion against the King?"

In a flash he was up against the wall, a hand pressed over his mouth. "For God's sake man, do you wish to have us all hanged?" Enjolras looked around nervously, checking to make sure his declaration of treason had gone unheard. Upon inspection he determined the streets were bare but he relaxed only a fraction.

"R, please." He whispered, looking deep into his eyes in that way that made Grantaire curse the day he was born with such a weak and fragile heart. "I know you struggle."

"You know nothing." Grantaire spat, letting his head fall against the brick behind him and his eyes fall closed. "You are the Adonis of the Amis, the all knowing symbol they look to in times of struggle. You are the voice of the voiceless, what am I? The disenchanted drunk. The laughingstock of the rebellion…too besotted to be anything more than free entertainment."

There was a catch of breath and a careful whisper. "Besotted? And who is it that captures your affections?"

Confused, he opened one bleary eye. Surely he was being mocked. It wasn't as if…but no. Enjolras's face revealed his ignorance before words could.

He laughed. Full bellied, tears threatening to leak from his eyes. He laughed so hard he nearly toppled over.

"Apollo! Oh my dear naive Apollo…" He wheezed, "You are such a fool." And then, with nowhere left to hide, and no words left to say he simply pulled the other man close and kissed him soundly, the smile still on his face.

When he pulled away Enjolras looked as if he had been struck across the face he was so shocked. He gaped, a fish out of water and Grantaire could only smile and shake his head at his friend's stupidity.

Thankfully for him, Enjolras recovered from his stupor with admirable speed. He barely had time to blink before he was being pushed up against the wall again, his mouth being plundered mercilessly by Enjolras's sweet tongue.

The world narrowed to lips and teeth and grasping hands, moans and gasps- from who it did not matter. All that mattered was the triumph and rapture that warmed his allegedly idle heart.

"You'll have to excuse my ignorance, Grantaire." He teased, "I am not quite as well versed in matters of love as some."

"My forgiveness is not so easily bought, Apollo. It will take hours…mmm, perhaps days to garner such a pardon." Enjolras chuckled.

"Days you say? Then I best begin groveling as soon as possible."


End file.
